


I'll come to you

by Lovegingernuts



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Hallucinations, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Mental Instability, Near Death, Other, POV John Watson, Post-Reichenbach, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovegingernuts/pseuds/Lovegingernuts
Summary: John explains how he reacted to Sherlock's death and how it almost led to his own.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This may not be suitable if you find it hard to read about mental illness and tragic loss.
> 
> English isn't my first language, there may be a few wrongs and if that bothers you don't read.

If it wasn't for Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade I would have been dead now. Just like Sherlock. I would have been just as deep buried in the ground with maggots feasting on me. In the moment I saw Sherlock jump from that bloody roof my heart stopped to then start beating in a much slower rhythm. When I realised he was gone it got worse, I couldn't breathe. That feeling I carried with me when I went back to Baker Street all heartbroken. I didn't want to, but I had to go there. It was my home then. Where else would I go? 

It's unbeliaveble how a loss of someone you love can paralyze you. Of course I had lost friends before and not least in the war, but with Sherlock it was different. He was the one who gave me life when I earlier had been like a walking dead. I didn't have a life and the angst bubbled inside me all the time. Sherlock gave me a life. He helped me to let all the difficulties go and on the exact day I met him I didn't feel alone anymore. He did so much for me and I owe him so much. If he just wasn't dead...

It was a horrible day. Wherever I went, whatever I was doing it felt like Sherlock was beside me. When I watched TV to distract myself I could feel how he gently grabbed my hand. When I was preparing supper that I forced myself to eat I could feel how he wrapped his arms around me from behind and let his head rest on my shoulder. I know he wasn't there, but it felt so real. I could even feel his breath against my neck. When I sat down at the table I felt his soft hand caress my arm. He never did that when he was alive, even though I wanted it incredibly much. The touch made me shiver, and then I burst into tears. I wished so much that he was there doing all those things to me. I never got the chance to tell him that I wanted him to touch me like that. That he would touch me tenderly and would want to be close to me. That he would feel the same as I. When I was lying in my bed trying to sleep Sherlock crept as close as possible and spooned me. We slept like that all night. But it was a huge disappointment when I woke up from a restless sleep and realised that the only thing embracing me was the blanket.

It continued for a week, Sherlock was always there with me. My heart seemed to beat slower for every day and I stopped eating. Of course people turned up at times to look after me. Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson of course. Even Anderson showed up. But when they asked how it was I said I was fine. Well, as good as you're able to be after witnessing the person you love the most taking his life for a reason you don't understand. Because I know that Sherlock wasn't a fraud. It's impossible. He was the most genuine person I've ever known. Not many agree, but that's probably because I am the only one Sherlock felt he could be himself with. He told me that once and that made me tremendously happy. I am the one he felt most safe with of all people.

One night was worse than the day I watched Sherlock die. He had disappeared from my side. I couldn't feel him anymore. No one hugged me, no one was there when I needed it. I was alone and also quite ill because I had been extremely sloppy with my diet, so to speak. Of course it feels incredibly stupid that I straved myself, especially since I am a doctor and know the consequences more than other people. But you can't help not feeling well, or being a human. Humans do stupid things sometimes. 

I couldn't carry on anymore. I couldn't stand a life without my Sherlock. He meant the world to me, and it's not possible to be a part of a world that doesn't exist. It hurts to tell this, because it's all really stupid. I dropped a bath, and while I waited for the tub to be filled I went to the kitchen and got the sharpest knife I could find. I let my robe fall to the floor and jumped in the bath. It was warm and nice. One of the best things I had felt for a long while. I hadn't taken a proper bath since Sherlock's death. The only thing that could beat a nice bath was the touch of Sherlock's hand. 

I lay there for a while and tried to remember our best times. All intriguing cases, our breakfasts. Our film and series-marathons. Yes, we had those. It was fun, as long as Sherlock didn't predict the whole plot before it happened... But even that negative quality I missed when I was lying there with the knife in my hand. In fact I still do. I sighed, brought the knife to my wrist and cut a deep wound. The blood gushed into the water. I did another cut, and another, and another. I knew how dangerous it was but I kept on doing it. I didn't care if I died. It was what I wanted after all. I wanted to see Sherlock. 

Soon the water was completely red and I started to feel dizzy. I stopped, dropped the knife and let me bleed. I felt nausea and how my brain didn't really get the hang on reality. Then I felt it. I was sitting between Sherlock's legs and his arms were tightly wrapped around my body. I felt his mouth against my ear and he whispered "What have you done, John? Are you crazy? What have you done?"

"I want to be with you" I answered and felt tears burning in my eyes. But I was too far away somewhere else to be able to cry. 

"What have you done? What the hell John?! John!!" It wasn't Sherlock's silky voice anymore. It was Lestrade. I saw the blurry contours of him in front of me and behind him was Mrs. Hudson. Somehow through my dizziness I could hear her heart-breaking crying. I'll never forget it. I'll never forget I was the reason. Sherlock was still holding me. "I love you, John" he whispered. "I love you too, Sherlock." I felt how Lestrade pulled me out of the bloody water. Eventually I had to let go off Sherlock's hand that had been holding me so hard. He wanted me to stay, and I wanted to. "Bye, John." 

"Bye."

"What the fuck, John?! Are you nuts?!!!" Lestrade screamed and it was obvious even for a half conscious person like me that he was about to burst into tears. "Call an mbulance now!"

I woke up at the hospital with my blistering and aching arms wrapped in bandage. I got blood transplantated into my system. To my surprise I found Molly sitting on a chair next to me. "Why didn't you say anything John? We could have helped you?" Her voice was thick and strained. 

"No one can help."

"You're sure about that?"

"Sherlock can help. But he's dead."

I had gotten back enough sense during my time at the hospital to understand that Sherlock's presence had all been fantasy. I started to accept that he was gone. I realised I had went too far. The loss of the one you love the most is a hit for your psyche, but it should never affect you so bad that it becomes physic. I know that more than well now. 

I fell asleep again, and the next time I woke up Sherlock was next to me. I didn't see him, I hadn't done it earlier either. But I could feel him. He held my hand in both his. They were soft and warm. He kissed my forehead. "You'll make it John. We'll be together again soon. And I promise you that I am the one to come to you."


End file.
